


An Understanding

by Nebulad



Series: Mien'harel [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Asexual Tabris, Asexual Warden, F/M, M/M, NB Warden, Other, Warden Tabris - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: “Where are you from? Besides Ferelden, I mean.” Denerim.“The Alienage?” Yeah.“Is it nice?”
  What do you think?
“I think you are not a conversationalist,” he said, sitting back.





	

In retrospect, the assassin wasn’t supposed to survive.

Gahruil wasn’t gunna try and pretend like they’d wanted him to live, or even been particularly curious about why he was there. Morrigan had been a little impressed with their thoughtfulness, merely knocking him out so he could be questioned. _T’was no surprise that the villain was once again Loghain, but that you of all people meant to interrogate him is… surprisingly well thought,_ she’d conceded.

Truthfully, Tabris had swung back and Zevran’s head had simply been in a fortuitous place, all things considered. They’d brained him with the butt of their sword, he’d fallen like a sack of cement dropped from the top of the battlements, and Gahruil had figured… well, whatever. If he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t getting up any time soon either. Sten would sweep up.

He’d roused himself right before they’d moved on, after Tabris had scavenged every possible item of use from the surrounding area. He’d groaned at their feet and they’d kneeled to press a blade to his throat because… well, he wasn’t supposed to survive. “I… what? Oh. _Oh.”_ Tabris expected a fight and got none. He stayed still, dismay reeling _just_ under the confused rolling of his eyes. They’d known very little of prisoners, but as far as they were concerned… he was a surprisingly cooperative one.

He barely peeped, even when they got him to camp. Morrigan checked him over for life-threatening injuries, he was told in no uncertain terms that he was _not_ to start trouble or to _sneeze_ without Gahruil’s permission, and then given a bedroll which he rolled out and sat on. Tabris still had his weapons strapped to their back, and figured… he might want them back.

It seemed like one of those things they’d regret later, but… they would have appreciated the gesture if their roles were reversed and they didn’t intend to kill him. Weapons were a comfort in a new place, and in a camp with three _shem_ and a Qunari, they weren’t doing a lot to put him at ease. “You are exceedingly strange,” he told them as they approached, catching the sheath and strap his daggers were in as they tossed it.

_Oh yeah?_

“Indeed. To start, it is not every day that someone bests an Antivan Crow alone, let alone one with twenty soldiers behind him,” he said as they sat down. “And then to spare him… it is a strange decision, no?”

 _Worked out all right for you,_ they said, hunching over a little. He was alive because he was an elf, and while Gahruil was by no means _good_ at counting, they were capable of it. Three humans meant there were three times the amount of elves if Gahruil had killed him— this didn’t even out the numbers by any means, but it helped.

“That is has. So what of you, Warden? Tell me about the hero that has brought me so low as to linger in Ferelden.” _Maker_ he… had a lot of words. Even when Gahruil spoke with their rusty voice, there was very little to… actually say. If they had a basket of words altogether, then this Antivan had a castle-full.

 _What do you want to know?_ It couldn’t hurt to tell him, and the Elders had always told the children that if they were taken they had to tell the kidnapper as much about themselves as possible to try and make themselves sympathetic. Surely an assassin wouldn’t put forth the effort.

“Where are you from? Besides Ferelden, I mean.”

_Denerim._

“The Alienage?”

_Yeah._

“Is it nice?”

_What do you think?_

“I think you are not a conversationalist,” he said, sitting back. He hadn’t put his daggers back on, letting them rest beside his armour. “Certainly you do not think I mean to use anything I learn against you?” It hadn’t really occurred to them, no, although they might have been concerned if it had.

_I don’t talk a lot._

He signed something back, but Gahruil didn’t recognise the gesture. They frowned at his hands and motioned for him to repeat himself. He did, this time speaking out loud. “I noticed. That you do not speak much, that is.”

 _That sign isn’t right,_ they said, a sort of weird feeling rolling in their gut. They didn’t know anyone who could… speak with them the right way. Valendrian had been the one that taught them to sign, but Cyrion had been too busy to learn. If they couldn’t speak when their father was around then he simply didn’t hear them. It was mostly the same with Shianni and Soris, but this… stranger just knew, somehow.

“That sign wasn’t in the Common,” he corrected. “Antivan signs are different in places— similar enough, perhaps, that we may still speak to each other. If I may ask—” He paused and they nodded. “—are you _able_ to speak? It seems that you can hear me talk.”

_Uh… yeah I can talk._

“You simply do not?”

_I guess._

“You know I think it is fortunate that our positions were not reversed. Interrogating you would be like drawing blood from a stone,” he mused. They ducked their head a bit, feeling their ears turn red. “Though I don’t suppose you were able to see any professional healer to diagnose your problem either.”

 _The Hahren said it was… probably from trauma,_ they admitted. This was bordering dangerously on oversharing, especially to a stranger but… he was an elf. If they couldn’t trust him then they were well and truly alone for this whole mess— probably for the rest of their life.

“That is… not surprising. I’m sorry,” he offered.

 _Why did you ask to come along?_ If he got to know weirdly personal stuff about them, then they sure as hell were gunna give him the third degree too.

“Dying was my alternative,” he reminded them.

 _You didn’t even_ ask _to be set free,_ they argued. _Not even in passing, or as a joke… you just jumped right from trying to kill me to signing on to kill darkspawn._

“Perhaps I have a thing for suicide missions?” he asked, which didn’t answer their question but was all they were gunna get from him. They got the feeling that contrary to what he’d let on so far, he was probably very good in an interrogation setting. “Why did you let me come along?”

 _You’re an elf,_ they answered bluntly, and he made a face. _You asked._

“I did, but it really is poor self-preservation,” he said. “Do you trust every elf you meet?”

 _No. You’re weird, though._ Which was fair, because he’d kept asking to come along even though he might’ve just launched an escape attempt. They didn’t think he was going to, though, which was what sort of invested them in letting him sign onto the darkspawn squad. He wasn’t going to run away, but he didn’t really care about stopping the Blight. He was weird.

“Perhaps you mean to take me up on my offer earlier?” His voice dropped a few levels and he reached out to run his hand down their back— that is, until they grabbed his wrist and twisted it upwards, prompting a yelp that alerted the whole camp.

Gahruil dropped him.

_Don’t fucking touch me, ever._

“Message received.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) and this might be familiar because this was the first draft of [Coward and a Whoreson](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7663480). It is, however, better and idk why I didn't use it frankly. Less work for me.


End file.
